Twit-Bits, Rugby Romance & Touring Troubles

,

As the autumn hiatus in provincial rugby looms and the Northern Unions embark on their annual fill the coffers series against mainly the Southern Hemisphere teams, it is time to solemnly reflect on the past few months of rugby tribulation, redemption and assorted asides.

CARDIGANS AT DAWN!

Mention of the internationals brings a long past trip to Dublin to mind when I travelled down on a hired bus with teammates and club colleagues. No names to protect the guilty and the plain silly. Being injured I was unable to play in the mornings’ club friendly with Blackrock so contented myself spectating and somehow wishing I was out on the pitch despite us taking a hammering.

Prior to disembarking from our bus at Blackrock our tour organiser announced that we would rendezvous at O’Rourkes pub off St. Stephens Green in Dublin City Centre. Given his profession he should have known better. Ask any Dubliner as we did later that day where O’Rourkes pub is and they will tell you, down there, turn roight, up the street and bob’s your uncle. Trouble was there appeared to be at least two O’Rourkes pubs in the vicinity of the Green and we sampled both of them as did selected members of our tour party.

Can’t remember much about the Ireland game (nothing to do with drink) except, Paddy Johns was playing.

That evening our tour party struggled to assemble, the bus had to visit one of each O’Rourkes pubs to pick up the stragglers. One of our props was missing and the driver had lost patience. As we drove down Grafton Street, the prop mysteriously appeared from behind a parked car and flagged the bus down.

With a full compliment aboard we set off again only for our grizzled no. 8 to demand at ballpoint that the driver stop because he needed something to eat. We watched in horrified fascination as the no. 8 crashed into the all glass door of a kebab carry-out like a clueless bird flapping into a window. Startled customers looked uneasy as he groped for the handle and entered.

With the no.8 ensconced in a seat near the front munching a kebab we were off once more into the darkness. One of the second rows who had until now been heavily sedated by drink and slumbering in the front seat of the bus suddenly awoke. Staggering down the by now fast moving vehicle he reached the recently arrived prop. Grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket they began wrestling in the aisle of the bus. At 6′ 7″ and 20 stone versus about 17 stone, the pair staggered back and forth in the aisle in time to fluctuations of the bus braking and accelerating. Colleagues eventually separated them and we were able to relax in our seats devoid of fear of being crushed by the combined weight of about 37 stone.

It wasn’t long though before the second row revisited his grievance and soon the two of them were again grappling up and down the aisle with several less physical specimens trying to separate them. The driver had had enough and stopped the bus, threatening to go no further unless it was sorted. Once again the warring parties returned to their seats. Nearing Dublin airport the second row grappled with the prop yet again. This time the driver stopped the bus and leapt out into the darkness shouting he was calling the Garda and that we could drive ourselves home. The second row meanwhile could be heard muttering that the prop had torn his cardigan. This must have happened some years ago and was only now being resolved.

“There is bad blood there, bad blood,” muttered my companion, another prop, still coming too after a considerable amount of beer.

The driver was eventually persuaded to re-board and we set off with two guys slumped on the rear seats and definitely with no Aussie connections worth mentioning, singing a drunken song about Gallipoli. All 8 verses to my surprise, though it is possible they may have sang the same verse about 3 times. Meanwhile the second row with the cardigan grievance remained morosely in his seat and we made it to Belfast without further action.

I can’t imagine Ryan Caldwell, Ed O’Donoghue or Carla Del Fava ever publically fighting over a torn cardigan. Perhaps they wear cardigans, carpet slippers and smoke a pipe in the privacy of their own home?

2nd rows wearing cardigans? nah, I just can’t imagine it at all!!

What do you think?


CILLIAN & GILLIAN

It is not for this blog to cover smut, scandal or sorcery as others do it so well on this site. However word has reached my ears from a surprisingly close source, of someone who is in ‘love’ with Cillian Willis. Should say at this point in time it’s all one way and that the boul Cillian has no idea of this recent and ardent affection for him. I understand an intermediary is currently desperately trying to contact him to convey the sincerity of the lady’s affections. With Ulster’s future on the line here and the young Cillian playing his part in securing our very survival in the Heiny next season I would not wish the fella to have any off the pitch distractions. Therefore for one season only, Cillian will be kept in the dark about Gillian.


CAPTAIN HARRIS & THE BERING SEA CRAB CHRONICLES

It is with deep regret that I announce the premature retirement of Capt. Harris, the Cornelia Marie’s skipper. When last heard of in this blog the Captain was coughing up blood in the middle of the Bering Sea and had phoned the hospital in Anchorage, Alaska for advice. Naturally he was told to get himself to the hospital right away and informed the docs he was in the middle of the Bering Sea and would not be in to see them for a few days yet.

Well the captain’s boat has well and truly come home. Like a professional rugby player whose career is cut short by injury, the captain has had to call time on seafaring due to his medical condition. He was last seen telling his young sons on the quayside that their dad, after more than two decades at the helm of the boat, would henceforth be confined to land.

Captain Phil Harris was at times, as coarse as a rhino’s hide, with a temper to match. His gruff exterior belied a humanitarian streak, unlike Captain Keith of the Wizard. He had been nurturing the two sons in the ways of the sea on the decks of the Cornelia Marie whilst grooming them for a future role as Skipper. This was no easy boat ride for the boys. They were serving a tough apprenticeship under the tough love of the father. The similarities with a pro rugby career are quite startling.

I wish the Captain well. I had grown to like the old boy’s uncouth manner and hard exterior under which beat a human heart, now sadly not beating too well.

Aww REFEREE!!!

Ulster have in my opinion had 3 first class referees this season out of 7 competitive outings. Under Messers Rollaind, Lewis and Owens their penalty count has been well within single figures. The matches in which these guys have reffed have been entertaining and decent contests. Sad then that the others have appeared to approach refereeing Ulster with preconceptions as to how they play.


BIG TOM & THE ELEPHANT MAN

Big Tom – no not the country star of bygone days but Tom Court or big Tom Court as the poster Elephant Man refers to him with something approaching mock reverence on the UAFC messageboard.

In the now defunct and badly managed Ulster Rugby forum, I seemed to remember a poster who referred to big Tom Court and was assumed to be Van Helsing. So is Elephant Man a reincarnation of Van Helsing , a poster who must take some responsibility for the demise of the UR forum.

As with Hannibal Lecter, do the UAFC know he’s out?


Corrections, comments or questions?

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.